


I Get Ideas

by Imostlyregretthingsyoudid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imostlyregretthingsyoudid/pseuds/Imostlyregretthingsyoudid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They could fall to their imminent doom, and it's probably Stiles' fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Get Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so let me know if there's any mistakes or typo's that bug you. :9

Cliffs are something that books and movies often describe as either really romantic or horribly terrifying. This one, Stiles decides, is absolutely not romantic. 

 

”This, Derek, is exactly why people _bring cellphones!!_ ” He finds himself screaming the last part of the sentence right into the ear of a werewolf, which might not be the best idea. Their feet are currently placed on a very thin edge below a cliff, both of them millimeters from falling. They're not far up enough to climb back up, or close enough to the ground so they can get down safely, even for someone with superpowers. They can't even see the ground from here and the rain is definitely not helping them stay in place. He doesn’t want to recall how they got there, and to be honest, it’s really not that important. Okay, okay, they might have wanted to be sneaky, and the edge might have been a bit wider before a large wolf decided to set foot on it. So much for sneaking. The creatures they were sneaking up on have left ages ago, too, as if things couldn’t get worse.

 

”Cellphones aren’t…” Derek looks frustrated. He always looks like that, though, like someone ate the last of his favorite cookies right in front of him. Stiles would think of it as adorable if the look wasn’t on the face of a fully grown man. 

 

”There’s silent mode, grandpa.” He wants to throw up his hands in defeat, he really does. With the very small space and very big chance of falling, however, he forces himself not to.

 

”As if this is my fault. Whose brilliant idea was this? Or did you already forget?” 

 

”Playing the blame game, are we? Oh, okay, uh, yeah. Sure! I didn’t tell you to get on, too! I was gonna go and get a little better idea of what language they were speaking, _on my own._ ” Despite the nagging, cold rain on his face, he can feel heat gathering in his cheeks from all of the anger of getting blamed for them being this close to death. Usually one of them is in danger, so the other can save him, but right now they’re in the kind of situation that calls for the line 'if _I'm_ here, and _you're_ here, who’s driving the plane?'. 

 

The dirt under his fingers feels mushy and he needs to get a new grip. His fingers slip and slide all over the place, and Derek grabs his shirt by the shoulder, holding him firmly. 

 

”I’m trying really hard not to just push you off, because this is not helping.” Derek's eyes are now a piercing blue. 

 

”Ow, ow, ow, okay, I get it! I’m not arguing all on my own, you know!” 

 

”You started it,” Derek insists like a sulky kid. The pouty appearance is only heightened by the pouring rain flattening his once perfectly styled hair, and Stiles heart gives in a little. He likes arguing a lot but just this once he will admit defeat. 

 

So they stand there grasping at what is slowly turning into mud, in complete silence besides the roaring sound of weather. Stiles can’t think of any possible plan that would help them, all he can hope for is Scott to magically show up and save the day like he always does. He always seems to know where to go to find people to save but apparently just this once, he decided to stay home and watch tv or something. Perfect. What if he died here? If his last words were spoken to Derek Hale, of all people? After that thought, he starts to feel like he needs to say something, like it would help somehow. Even though he is fully aware that it would do absolutely no good, his talking is like a defense mechanism. Anytime he finds himself in mortal danger words fall out like a protective shield. Scratch that. A useless shield. 

 

It’s cold. It’s really, really cold, and Stiles really wants to cover himself up when he looks over at Derek. The man is standing there, full of thought, like he’s ready to go on stage at a wet t-shirt contest, but needs to sort his mind out first. His t-shirt sure is wet, and his chest sure is sculpted like out of marble. Stiles isn’t really complaining...

 

”Stop that,” Derek bites out of his teeth, eyes darting back to meet Stiles’. He still gives off very strong Alpha vibes despite not being one anymore. He’s always been like that. Stiles can’t help but to think he’d be a terrible father, being so bossy and no fun.

 

”wha- huh, stop what?” 

 

”You know what.” 

 

”I’m not doing anything!! I was just thinking that, If we’re about to die…” Derek gives him this look that speaks very loudly. It says something along the lines of 'You will not go there. If you go there, I will rip your throat out. with my teeth.' Mostly because Derek is unoriginal like that. ”…I’d have a thing or two I’d like to tell you!”

 

”Stiles. Shut up.” 

 

”Derek, to be hone- Woah!” The ground gives out from under his feet, as if it was completely mud-ified. He finds himself hanging by only Derek’s hand, the air not as refreshing as one would hope. It's sort of like going on a rollercoaster because your dad wanted to and you were too scared of seeming scared that you got on too, despite your fear of free-falling. His heart is beating a million beats per second, and as he starts sliding out of his wet shirt, his hands start flailing around for something to hold on to. Stiles arms are introduced to Derek’s right leg and the feeling of wet denim has never given him so much comfort before this very moment. 

 

”Are you okay?” Derek asks, for once a little worried. Like he’d actually care if Stiles fell to his death. That thought is actually nice: getting to die with someone who cares a little. 

 

”I’m… yeah, I think so.” He gives out a weak laugh to try to prove he’s not scared at all, though he knows Derek can hear his frantic heartbeat. The rain is making it a bit hard to hold on, and he finds himself fondling Derek’s leg a bit more than he’d like to. Actually he’s not sure what he wants anymore, because this sure is a hunky leg. He makes a mental note to let Derek know he has hunky legs when and if they get out of this predicament. 

 

”Stop groping.” Derek gets one hand into the back of Stiles collar and pulls him up, in some sort of swift swoop. Stiles finds himself groping mud instead, and mutters a ’thanks’ and ’sorry’. When he looks over, Derek looks like he has some sort of idea.”Stiles. I think I can get you up on top, so you can go get help.” Stiles is baffled by the suggestion.

 

”And leave you here to die all by yourself? You really think I’d be able to get help in time without a phone? With my poor motor-skills and awful durability? Uh, no thanks.” 

 

”Don’t be stupid! It’s our only chance.” 

 

”You mean _my_ only chance.” He reaches out and grabs Derek’s hand, a little too scared to meet his eyes. ”Maybe you wouldn’t believe me, but I actually think you’re a good guy. The thought of leaving you behind isn’t… I mean, If something would happen while I’m gone-” The sentence kind of stops there. It stops like it has no clue where it's going, or what it wants to say. In Stiles' head it's crystal clear, it's just his mouth that doesn't want to admit to what he's thinking.

 

”I heal faster. I could survive,” Derek replies with his usual style of using as little words as possible. Stiles meets his eyes, and find them looking painfully sincere. So much so that he feels the urge to go along with his plan, even if it is the least thought-through plan of the century. 

 

”- And If you **don’t**?!” He’s yelling now. Mostly because the wind is picking up, also because his chest hurts at the thought. He can’t really imagine a Beacon Hills without Derek. Maybe two years ago, but not anymore. Derek has become something more than just an advisor of the supernatural, something more like a fixed point in the universe that is Stiles' life. There's a lot of people he couldn't stand losing, and despite all of their disagreements, Derek is one of them. 

 

”You living is better than both dying!” Derek logic 101: never put yourself first. It’s not like they have any other options at the moment, though, and the rain is getting worse by the minute, so they should probably act now if not yesterday. 

 

”Okay.” He’s breathing really hard, and Derek grabs a hold of him again. ”-But just so you know! I’m not gonna see you die before I do this.” Derek pauses and looks like the biggest question mark ever, as Stiles press their lips together. The kiss is kind of careful and chaste, considering the situation, but he manages to feel his soft lips, completely free of rigor mortis. ”Okay, go, I’m ready.” Derek seems more confused than ever, his eyebrows doing this weird thing where they frown so deep it seems they’ll meet in the middle and create one giant sexy unibrow. He is actually blushing, which makes Stiles want to take it back, except not.

 

He reminds Derek that time is ticking, so he sucks in a deep breath before tossing Stiles into one of the most painful journeys of his life. The magic of werewolf strength is something he will never understand. He doesn't want to think about how far vertically he threw a whole person. 

 

His hands just barely get a hold on the edge of the top of the cliff, and he somehow manages to pull himself up on pure adrenaline and a river of ’please, please, please, _come on!_ ’.

 

After that, the happy ending is all up to his legs. 

 


	2. Aw…C’Mon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’d expect someone to be up for a little communication after you save their life.

It’s been about a week since Stiles ran so fast his legs became completely numb, and managed to get to Scott in time for him to save Derek from death and Beacon Hills from murderous creatures from deep within the woods.

Stiles hasn’t gotten a single chance to explain why or apologize for kissing Derek when he thought they’d die for sure, because he’s being avoided. Big time. Sure, he doesn’t really get together with Derek often at all, but he’s been actively trying to seek him out. When he calls or texts, he doesn’t answer.

He’s going back to college in about one day, so he’s running out of chances to meet with him. It’s frustrating, because he can’t really explain it to himself. It was like a reflexive thing, like when someone asks if you want pizza and you say ‘Fuck Yeah!’... not that Derek is pizza, he’s more like a fancy meal Stiles can’t afford. He usually finds himself wanting people you could apply that metaphor to.

That makes it sound like Derek is perfect, which he is definitely not. Sometimes he is way too brooding and scary, making things way harder for himself than they need to be. Like he probably is right now, if he’s even thinking about what happened.

It’s not like he did something bad, though. If anything, Derek should be grateful. He always looks like he needs human contact. Why should he even apologize? He’s not sorry for doing it. It’s something he’s been wanting to do since he was sixteen, so it was kind of a dream come true in many ways. Somehow it always feels like the world owes Derek an apology, so Stiles always wants to give him the next best thing. Which usually only annoys him.

Right now he’s sitting in his jeep, a forest away from Derek’s new house, that he got after returning to Beacon Hills. Derek has been busy rebuilding the Hale territory a little further away from the Nemeton. Instead of getting one in town, or an apartment, he gets a creepy-ass house out in the middle of nowhere. Why not? Creepy and suspicious goes hand-in-hand with Derek Hale.

He instantly regrets the decision, if he has to hike all the way to Derek’s, so he’s about to turn the ignition and drive away.

Suddenly he catches a glimpse of someone’s red hair among the trees. His mind goes directly to Lydia, her catatonic banshee-phase, and he jumps out of the car to see if it’s really her. Lydia isn’t someone he’s pining over anymore, not since long, but she’s still one of his most precious friends. Her walking alone in the forest at night is something that concerns him. Plus, he’s never been able to hold back when he’s curious about something, especially if it has to do with dark woods and the possibility of dead bodies.

He follows quickly, in order not to lose sight of the red locks that caught his attention. Unsure if he should call out to her, he suddenly hears her laugh. It’s not the usual, ‘I am a goddess brought to earth’ laugh, it has something of a more dark undertone. It makes him shiver and think that this is probably the part in the horror movie where you would yell at the main character to turn back around. Yet, he keeps going.

Unnatural silence is all around him, with the trees looking extra dark. He finds himself glimpsing up to the moon, just in case. It’s not full. The wind is still, unlike five minutes ago, when it was still running around from leftover energy from the storm. He makes the mistake of looking around at his surroundings, for a while.

The woman is right next to him in one sudden moment, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus! You almost… You’re not Lydia.” She just laughs and slides her hand along his arm, eerily slowly. He knows he should be scared out of his wits, because she has really sharp teeth, but he can’t help feeling dazed and letting himself get pulled along when she takes his hand.

Her back is hollow like an old oak tree, and his mind sounds a million alarms. His mind wants to fight the urge to follow her, but his body is not listening with even half an ear. “Uh… where are you taking me? ‘Cause I’m not that kinda girl, you should really buy me a drink first. It’s only…”

She giggles, her whole eyes pitch black. He can almost see his own reflection in them. Stiles swallows, throat sore suddenly. The powerlessness he’s feeling is akin to when the nogitsune was possessing his body. Whatever she is, it’s probably old and very powerful. He is just one puny human, as always.

They stop by the edge of a cave, and despite not being a werewolf, he can smell the blood from here. The realization that she brought him along to kill and maybe eat dawns on him then. She pulls on him, and he wants to scream badly. He can’t. Every time he tries, it dies in his throat. Her hand tightens around his painfully, and feels like bark or stone, or maybe both at the same time. All of the worries about one little kiss seem very small in comparison to the situation his curiosity got him into.

He manages to build a trembling fist with his free hand. Gathering all the will his body ever had, he punches deep into the hollow of her back, on a whim. It makes her screech loudly, and let go of his hand.

He sprints as soon as he can, and doesn’t look back at the murderous forest-woman. The pace isn’t as fast as last week, but he’s stumbling over the roots fast enough to not be caught within one second. He’s slowly regaining his voice, so he screams for Derek, hoping he’s within hearing range. She gains on him, and he lets out one last ear-wrenching scream before face planting in the dirt.

The long, hard fingers are wrapped around his ankles, and once she has a hold on him, he can’t fight her back anymore. She crawls over his body with twitchy movements, like a hungry spider on a web. If he’d had to read her expression and try to explain it, something between furious and hungry is probably what he’d go with. Stiles is scared of what it would mean if it wasn’t one of those, because it’s closing in on his face, like she wants to eat it.

She’s off of him swiftly, however. All he managed to see was a dark shadow moving across the space between them, and he’s quickly being pulled off the ground and onto his shaky feet.

“Can you run?”

“No?!” He doesn’t even have time to understand what’s happening before he’s thrown over Derek’s hunky shoulder and whisked away through the trees. His hands grip the leather jacket tightly, and he’s sure he’s never been more relieved to be carried away like a sack of potatoes.

-

He gets a blanket thrown at him where he sits, and he just stares into space without even one snarky comment. It seems to worry Derek, who sits down on the living room table across from the couch where Stiles is perched. Of course it’s leather, what else?

“Are you hurt?” Derek seems to look into his eyes like they could tell him the answer, before giving up on that and looking at his face for wounds, or something similar to that. There’s a lot of concern on Derek’s face, which is nice. It’s not nice that he’s troubled, but it’s nice that he cares about Stiles. “What did she do to you?”

“Uh… just a whole lotta… dragging and… “ He’s at a loss for words, which is uncommon for him. It happens about as often as you can spot Haley’s comet. Derek seems worried about that, as well.

“Ever since I moved here and spotted her, I’ve been researching what she could be. The closest I’ve come to is an old norse myth about an entity that protects territories of forests. As long as you don’t hurt the forest, or anything in it, she leaves you alone usually,” he says carefully. When Stiles has nothing to say, it usually makes everyone around him talk more than they usually do, to fill in the silence. “If you came here by car, she was probably angry. She hates cars.”

“You say that as if you know by personal experience,” Stiles’ deduction seems to be spot on, if he judges Derek’s eyeroll correctly. Does that mean he’s actually left the fancy car life behind? He always figured Derek really cares for his car, and starts thinking of Derek in a dirty tank top, working as a mechanic. It would work. While on that subject, he wonders if Derek ever does work. He brings his mind back to the present, though. He wants to know more about what almost killed him in the woods. "I see." 

“She also is known to get people lost in the woods for fun, but she’s very old, so I’m not sure if I even should try to get rid of her.” Derek decides to put the blanket on him properly, a strangely gentle gesture. “To be safe, you should probably always call before you decide to come for a surprise visit.”

Stiles sits silently for a while longer, taking in the information. He needs to do research on this, since it’s something that seems to exist in reality.

“… if you had answered my calls, it wouldn’t have been a surprise visit.” His ability to talk back is returning, so he takes that as a good sign. Derek looks confused.

“What calls?”

He can’t believe it. Derek’s inability to operate modern technology is going to actually get someone killed someday.

“Damnit, Derek! Where’s your phone?” Derek takes off his leather jacket and rummages through the pockets until he finds his phone.

“Oh.” Derek seems to scroll through millions of texts. “I put it on silent mode, like you told me to. It’s handy.”

“It’s not “handy” if you never look at the screen!” Stiles angrily wraps the blanket around himself and fights the urge to kick Derek’s shin. History reminds him that trying to hurt Derek has only ever hurt Stiles instead. A lot. His body is made out of steel, titanium, or something.

“Sorry.” His eyes are still chasing messages on the screen, the hand not holding the phone scrubbing at his stubbly chin. Stiles sighs and leans back against the sofa, looking at the ceiling instead and thinking about how embarrassing his texts probably are. In the moment, he usually doesn’t think about it much. Texting lets him filter out things he usually would just blurt out, but hitting the send button is just as easy as doing just that. “So what was it you wanted? I don’t have the energy to read all these.”

“Um.” Suddenly, words are hard to find once again. He turns his eyes back to Derek. “It’s about the… last week.”

“The cliff?”

“Yeah! Uh…” He takes one, big, deep breath and tries again. “When I…. did the thing.” Perfect. Spot on. What a champion he is. He can’t even spell it out in words.

“The… _thing?”_ Both of Derek’s eyebrows greet the sky, and his forehead wrinkles. Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up, and he cannot believe he is acting like a prepubescent child over one little kiss. He has kissed people before. It’s not a big deal!

The pause he needs to get over himself is a little too long.

“I kissed you.” There. It’s out in bright neon letters. Not embarrassing at all. However even he, a human, can hear his heartbeat running a marathon.

Derek’s face looks more constipated than ever.

“You did.”

“Soo….”

“So?”

“Should I explain, or…?”

“I’m good.”

Stiles feels his level of frustration hit the roof. How can he not care about why that happened? He’d like to believe that they’re friends, and when something like that happens between friends, they usually talk it out.

“So you don’t wanna talk about it? At all? Just pretend it didn’t happen? Huh, how’s that been working out for you with everything else you go through? Maybe you could, but I can’t just drop it, Derek!” He tosses the blanket right at him, but werewolf reflexes make it look like he didn’t even try to aim right. Derek shrugs at him. He actually dares to shrug it off, and that just angers Stiles more. If he could mimic the face of the woman- or creature he just met, he definitely would.

“I’ve been thinking about it. too much, actually! I can’t seem to let it go, and I don’t even understand it myself!” It feels good to admit that. However he probably does understand, it’s just more of the factor that he never wants to accept feelings that have anything to do with Derek.

“Okay.” Derek moves his hand to grasp at Stiles’ flailing wrist. His skin hurts where he was held before, and he notices something that looks like bruises and broken skin there. Derek notices them too. “We’ll talk, but not today. You should sleep.”

“But I wanna talk about it. Right now. It can’t wait. I’ll never stop thinking about it, and I’ll have essays to write very soon. I’ll end up writing novels about Derek Hale and how incredibly stupid I was to try and kiss him when I thought I was dying.” Despite his very whiny complaints, his eyes have a hard time staying open. Stiles does feel incredibly tired, and suspects it has something to do with the woman in the woods. His mind also wanders to his Jeep (2.0) and worries that the woman might hurt it. The thoughts stop spinning when Derek starts to take all the pain away. Pain that he wasn’t really focusing on, but now that it’s gone it’s evident just how hurt he actually was.

“Shut up,” Derek insists, sitting down on the couch next to him.

He swears he can feel fingers combing through his hair as he drifts off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add some myth I knew about to this (way shorter than expected) story. I didn't want to be too specific, but I always loved to read horror stories about the forest "rå". I'm not sure how to translate that, though. Sometimes she has a hollowed out back, and sometimes she has a fox tail. It's always portrayed as being her weakness, because in the traditional sense her front looks completely human and really beautiful. Usually the horror stories are about her wanting to seduce men. 
> 
> If I were her, I'd probably try to seduce Stiles, but she is obviously not me. Thanks for reading!


	3. Talk To Me

“Maybe we should call for help,” Stiles is tapping his feet restlessly, still wrapped in the same blanket he fell asleep in. He needs to get on the road as soon as possible. Although he’s grateful for another chance to talk things out with Derek so they can at least keep being friends, the creature sneaking around the house in the woods that seems to still be out for his blood is a more pressing matter.

“Who do you know that would be able to kill a forest-god?” Derek looks tired, and Stiles keeps glancing all over him because it looks really good. His hair is ruffled and he’s wearing more clothes than usual, among those a knitted sweater. It makes Stiles more aware of how cold it really is in the house, cool air slipping through the cracks of the window to where he's sitting.

“Scott, duh. Doesn’t all that true-alpha stuff work on anything?”

“I doubt it,” Derek decides after thinking for about one second.

“Maybe… Okay, hear me out.” Stiles turns to look at him, licking his lips subconsciously. “What if it’s not a god, but it’s just that the people of the olden days over there thought it was a god! I know that if I saw that and computers didn’t exist, I’d think it was holy, or something. Can you even imagine?”

“You have a point.” He says, scratching his chin, seemingly as discontented as any time Stiles is right and he's not.

“Yes!” Stiles fistpumps, he can’t help himself. This kind of moment is rare, and he totally has the right to celebrate.

“but.”

“Derek, come on! Let me bask in my smartass-glory just a little.” He whines, his shoulders slumping together.

“She is still more powerful than anything I’ve ever met.”

The fact leaves them both quiet, staring at each other mindlessly. If that's true, Stiles should have been way more scared than he was last night. Derek makes something of a shrug and reaches out to tangle his fingers in Stiles hair, for some reason. It makes Stiles' cheeks heat up like he’s fifteen and Lydia is asking him how to get to the right classroom. His mouth dries up and has no words when the digits start to move over his scalp. It’s hard to focus and question it because it’s really... nice. Everything’s quiet in that moment.

“Are you hungry?” Breaks the silence.

Stiles doesn’t want to say yes, mostly because he would feel like a bad guest to just show up, make him risk his life for Stiles AND make him breakfast. However, his stomach answers Derek right away with a low rumbly noise. Derek’s hand leaves his hair, making it feel colder than before. Looking up at him, Stiles notices that Derek looks exactly the kind of upset that Stiles feels about that. Derek moves over to the fridge with a stiff line like he doesn't care, telling him to “keep watching the woods”.

“You’re gonna cook for me? Are you sure you wanna seem all human and weak in front of me? What if I tell people that you’re secretly Martha Stewart with less jail time?” He snorts it out, secretly thinking about how they’ve never been this strangely domestic since Derek once ended up eating dinner with Stiles and Scott’s dad, and that doesn’t even count because Derek wasn’t even himself fully at the time.

He accepts his rude teenage-y sarcasm-y attempt at a joke being ignored without a word and forgets that he should keep bickering for appearance’s sake, instead finding a flying bird to track over the tree line. Quickly, he loses track of what he was supposed to do and turns his head to look toward Derek, who is cooking something that smells like real bacon. Words can't describe how much he's missed bacon. He hasn't made time for bacon lately.

His eyes catch on the wave of Derek’s hair, how the hairs swoop in his neck. He tilts his head to follow the lines of hairs on his skin that disappear down his shirt, then the patterns in his knitted shirt, counting the holes he finds in it. When Derek gets caught in some steam from the stove, he removes the shirt to reveal his usual henley. Stiles gets overwhelmed by his muscles, as usual. It's challenging to try not to be. Every passing minute he finds a new detail on Derek to get distracted by.

“Stiles. Stop staring.”

“wh- I wasn’t! ...Okay, maybe I was. I mean.” He taps his feet on the chair, and his fingers on the windowpane. Now that Derek has turned around he gets distracted by the fact that there’s a weak sign of crow’s feet by his eyes, and he wonders when Derek has ever laughed, because he sure hasn’t seen it often. His mind goes off on a tangent of thoughts wondering why they're even called crow's feet when they should be named sexy-wrinkles.

“What?” Derek sounds annoyed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, which just makes Stiles want to stare some more.

“I just uh,” It’s hard to come up with an excuse this time, and by each passing moment, a new record seems to set for how high Derek’s eyebrows can lift themselves. “I, um… Your sweater made me think of how cold I am! You know, puny human and all that.”

“You left a backpack here last week. Maybe there’s something in there.” Derek’s eyes dart down towards Stiles’ chest for a millisecond before he directs his attention towards the frying pan and seems to be in hardcore ignore-mode. His sweater on the counter is apparently not up for any kind of offer, so Stiles takes it kind and hair-petting Derek is a thing of the past. He has left the building, it seems.

“ _great_.”

Stiles does a big, sarcastic arm-flail. The blanket falls off his shoulders, and his disheveled hair falls over his forehead. Now a teensy bit frustrated, he takes all of his body's unhelpful limbs with him on the search for this mythical backpack.

Without the blanket, he does feel like the house is getting more chilly. Part of him forgets Derek for a moment and wonders if it has anything to do with the forest deity, like the cold air is a teargas method but with natural powers, or something. He ignores the fact that it is December because it would be way cooler if she had those kind of powers. Way scarier too, but mostly cool. Stiles likes not being dead, don’t misunderstand, it’s just that knowing there’s creatures with awesome powers makes life a little cooler. All the death that comes with it is… though he still can’t help being fascinated by the world that has opened up to him ever since he found out supernaturals exist.

The backpack is right by the door, and it’s kind of strange because Stiles doesn’t remember ever being in this house before. Rummaging through it he finds ropes and chains, books and a flask of something undetermined. Thinking it through, he realizes he took it to Deaton when they were discussing the creatures they found out about last week. The flask was something he borrowed because it seemed interesting, he however doesn't remember what it was by now.

He must have forgotten the bag there, at the veterinarian. Then why would it be in Derek’s possession? Did he take it with him? Why? Why didn't he just hand it off to Scott?

He grabs the bag by it’s strap.

“You were avoiding me!” He bursts right back into the kitchen, backpack in hand, accusing finger on the other. What he needs right now is answers. “Why’d you want to keep this bag around your house? Huh? Especially if there’s important things in it, you’d be desperate to return it, mr. practical and orderly. Plus, I didn’t even forget it here, I’ve never set one foot in your house before.”

“Stiles.” He offers, together with the biggest sigh. “Can’t you leave it alone?”

“No, I can’t! We still need to talk!” He belts out. “I don't understand-” Derek takes his shoulders and guides him to a chair, easily pushing him down with his stupid manly strength. He’s faced with a plate of sad-looking bacon and eggs.

“Eat.”

“ugh.”

A tensed silence creeps back in, like when an old person at a family dinner casually slips out something racist about the mailman. Stiles, feeling defeated, grabs a fork with a sigh and distracts himself with eggs. They're alright, but he could honestly do better himself. He'd feel rude if he said it out loud though, so he doesn't. He glances over at Derek, who doesn't seem bothered by Stiles' presence. It's actually more like he's ignoring it. Again.

He'd probably thank him for the bacon if it wasn't for the fact that he's still frustrated about Derek's stubborn no speaking business. Though if they did start to talk he'd have to face the fact that he doesn't exactly know what to say. He mostly wants to know what is going through Derek's head. He's scared that... Well what, exactly?

Between taking bites, he keeps peeking up at Derek to see if he looks any less likely to ignore anything he's asked. Every time, the answer is no. If he'd ask, he would want to know if Derek took the kiss seriously...

Oh my god, he totally has a crush on Derek. Why hasn't he thought this through before? When did it even happen? He knew he was attracted to him, but he's never bothered asking how Derek feels about him before. An internal crisis erupts in his head suddenly, and his hands drop to the table.

“Derek…”

“Talking comes after we know we won't get killed.”

“ _What?_ I was just gonna talk about the weather. I swear." He gestures for emphasis and Derek gives him raised, skeptical eyebrows that make Stiles want to run away. “Okay, fine! I’ll shut up forever.”

“Like that’s even possible.” A ghost of a smile spreads over Derek’s face, as Stiles narrows his eyes. He’s right, but Stiles can be stubborn for at least five minutes.

So they end up in the middle of a stare-down, in which Derek looks smug about everything and Stiles tries really hard to keep his lips sealed. It starts by going pretty well, except for the fact that it’s difficult to hold back the urge to tell Derek that he’s dumb and a jerk, and would he be up for a jerk? The train of thought gets his mind up in all the wrong places.

“You’re holding your breath, you know. That wasn’t the challenge.” - Makes Stiles lose his concentration and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his head spinning a little. Derek actually laughs at him and he feels really stupid about it, deciding to sulk.

“Shut up.”

“That wasn’t even one minute.”

“And you, buddy, sure are talking a lot for someone who doesn’t want to talk about anything or be honest about feelings and just pretend nothing’s up about anything.” At that, Derek morphs back into the emotionally blank wall he usually is at that and grabs both their somewhat empty plates, bringing them to the sink. Stiles immediately gets up and follows him, starting to actually feel a little bad about how uncomfortable he’s able to make Derek. Just a teensy bit. 

Though now it actually seems like he has been thinking about it, with the bag and hairbrushing and whatnot. Stiles feels hopeful since Derek hasn’t thrown him out to his demise yet. Somehow it feels like this might go the way he wants it to, but he still wants to hear it from Derek's own mouth.

They stand against the counters in another small, this time comfortable, silence. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and nudges Derek’s shoulder with his own just because he feels like maybe he’s allowed to, and smiles a little.

“She does have a weakness, I think.” He says, officially giving up on trying to pry anything out of Derek, turning their attention towards the murderous god-or-whatever. Derek looks interested in the conversation. “I packed a punch into the hole in her back, and she let me go.”

“In the myths I read, she lets you go if you either see a fox tail, or her back looking like a hollowed out tree.” Derek nods, thinking about it.

“Why’d she have such an obvious weakness though?” He can’t imagine it’s that easy. “That would be like a werewolf with a hole in it’s chest that says ‘insert wolfsbane here’.”

“I’m not sure, but that’s really useful knowledge.” Now he just looks like he’s thinking way too much about it, remembering texts he’s been reading while considering possible outcomes.

“Oh my god, why do you look like you’re gonna go and try to fight her on your own?” Their eyes meet in a long focused moment, Stiles’ attempting to make sense and Derek’s confident and sure. “...Because you are, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Of course you are!” He actually facepalms and rolls his eyes at the same time.

“I think I can handle this, if what you found out is right.”

“God, Derek! There’s a limit to being self-destructive, and it’s right here. Right here. Stop thinking about it, don’t even go there, alright? Let’s do this the right way: Calling in Scott or Peter, or maybe both. Preferably both.”

He's practically seething at this point, cheeks red. Derek’s shoulders shake a little. It takes Stiles a moment to realize that he’s laughing quietly, at Stiles. It’s an unusual sight, so much so that he would take a picture and frame it, but the overwhelming feelings of worry, fear and anger have control over him.

“Christ, what, Derek?!”

“You’re genuinely worried about me.” He seems to still be laughing, though more like he thinks Stiles is a precious child rather than an idiot, so it's not all that bad.

“Yes? Yes, Derek, I care if you die! Your point?!”

“Nothing.” Derek stands up straight, still smiling a smile that’s all perfect teeth. It’s mesmerizing and frustrating all at once. Stiles steps closer and pushes at his shoulder.

“Stop smiling, you’re weirding me out.”

“Okay.” He still looks visibly amused and Stiles furrows his brow further at that, frustration obvious.

“Just stay here, Stiles. I’ll be fine.”

“Like I’m gonna sit here like a damsel in distress, waiting for you to return? I know she’s after me, but still! If we’re doing anything WE’re doing it. Plus, we still haven’t talked anything out! Don’t die before we do that! I just really... ” Stiles sighs loudly, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Whatever."

Hands catch his and Derek is now way closer than he usually is. Eyebrows doing the sort of thing that means business, and Stiles feels like backing off, melting into the floorboards.

He just about has the time to lick his lips before Derek’s lips brush against his. It’s careful, and he feels himself being pressed up against the counter. He’d probably make it less sweet and gentle if his hands weren’t taken hostage. The kiss is way too short, and when it does end he lets his tongue dart out quickly again, feeling a little dazed. All the thoughts previously speeding through his head are out the window.

"Whuh?"

“just in case I don't come back,” Derek shrugs, letting his hands go. Stiles grabs him by the shirt then and doesn’t let him move away. He probably could move if he wanted to, since he is remarkably stronger, but for some reason it makes him pause.

“What the hell?! no way, you don’t get to do that!”

The longer Derek stares, the more Stiles finds his whole body is feeling like pins and needles. His palms get warmer by the second, and he is no closer to finding a good reason for not taking this creature on that this man would actually take to heart. Stiles can feel his mouth trying, but he can’t make sense of anything he’s saying.

Derek doesn’t even look a little sorry as he tilts his head and shuts him up with his lips one more time. This time it’s strangely reassuring, as Derek’s hand finds it way up the small of his back and further, under his shirt. He almost feels like squirming at the sensation spreading between his shoulder blades. It's hard to keep his eyes open and attention pinned on persuading. Like an automatic response to everything, his own hands pull on the fabric covering Derek’s chest tighter, pulling him impossibly close.

Their bodies get closer, lips moving more heatedly, making their noses bump together occasionally. His previously chapped lower lip feels warm and soft, and when it's pulled between teeth he lets out a breathy moan. As if in reply, Derek growls a low sound that Stiles assumes is appreciation. Stiles finds Derek’s fangs start to make an appearance, sharp and wet, against his lips. Although all of this aggression should to any sane person be something off-putting, it just turns any of the mumbled words that he's trying to form into lewd noises.

They end up pausing, making eye contact with dazed eyes, just breathing each other's air. Derek's hand slides down his back again, pushing him impossibly near, as Stiles closes his eyes once more and rubs his nose gently along a stubbly cheek. He doesn't know why, it just feels right. His forehead is met with a pair of gentle lips full of meaning and words unspoken, before the hand previously urging him over pushes him away.

“Stay.” His big hand is firm and telling on Stiles' chest. Completely out of it, he has nothing to say. All he can manage is a nod.

Though that's something he regrets right as the warm pressure goes away. Derek seems to be in a hurry to leave before Stiles would try to stop him again, and is out of sight before you can say mountain ash pie. Stiles sincerely hopes that he isn't the only one left with a surging hole in his chest, pulling at all of his heartstrings at the same time. First he was happy, filled to the brim with confirmation and arousal, and now it's like a dark cloud took over that space, bringing hurt and worry.

"Fuck." There is no word more appropriate. He almost turns to follow Derek right away, but doesn't dare to, in case his order that Stiles should stay inside is his last.

Stiles manages to follow that order for about five minutes, pacing over the wooden floor, watching the woods, lump in his throat. When his eyes start to tear up, he can't take it any longer and grabs a jacket in the hallway and kicks the front door open. He’s all for being alive and all that good stuff, but not so much for leaving things unsaid. Derek should know himself how much that hurts. They’ve both lost way too many loved ones.

Outside, the grass is damp, the air is heavy, and everything is way too quiet. Stiles doesn’t need special powers to hear his own heart beating as his steps close in on the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to not take too long in writing the last chapter, but I don't have any routines so.  
> Thanks for reading! :D


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